Whole World's Crazy
by The Star that Lied
Summary: All human modern AU. Drusilla was just a normal girl until she was kidnapped and her family killed. A psychopath has spent the past five years slowly unraveling her mind. One fateful night, she escapes and runs into a certain poet. Enter poet and student William Pratt, who is in for the surprise of his life when he grants her asylum. warnings inside.
1. Looking for Will

**And you're thinking "what's she trying to do now?" This came from me listening to the song that gave me the working title for this piece, "Whole World's Crazy" by Art of Dying. Modern Day All-Human AU Spike and Dru. Not an insane idea at all…**

**Notes: I had to keep Angelus realistic with human capabilities. One human versus an entire convent? I dialled that bit back, saying that there was one priest in the church she'd run to, and was sleeping in. More realistic that way. Also, ages have been changed to accommodate for the difference between times. Nineteen in 1860 was a lot different from any age in these times (in that people were a lot more naïve and child-like, but also expected to marry). I feel like I should have made Dru a little younger than I did, but my conscience didn't like that so much. **

**Chapter warnings: flashbacks that contain non-graphic character death and a lot of unpleasant things left implied. So why is this M, you ask? Because the implications can be construed pretty darkly, and this is really just chapter one.**

Drusilla cursed under her breath as her ankle caught on something, random trash, she wasn't sure, because she just ripped past it, ignoring the sting of pain at her ankle. Drusilla winced, but by now, she was so used to pain that she could just as easily push through such a small sting, without it slowing her down. She heard a rough voice calling her name warningly, telling her that he was going to be angry if she didn't turn around. Normally she would turn around, return to her prison, spirits quashed. She sobbed a little, her vision blurring with tears, she'd made it a block before he saw her, and she wasn't stopping, she refused to. She knew she wouldn't be able to outrun him, but maybe, if she could get to a police station… Maybe then she'd be safe. No, never safe, and that was assuming she would be coherent enough to explain who she was to them, or explain what had happened. She'd done this once before, and they thought she was an addict. She spent the night in a holding cell, until her 'mother' came for her. She'd begged them not to release her, but Darla just had this effect on people. They assumed that anyone that beautiful had the purest of intentions.

She'd paid dearly for it when Darla had dragged her, kicking, screaming and sobbing, home. She still didn't know why they'd chosen her, but once they had, her life had changed drastically. She could remember it; she was sitting on the couch at home, when she got this sick feeling, a bad sick feeling. The news had told her the rest on their small television. There was a serial killer in the city. He'd been striking all over the city, and one day, she'd been cutting through the park, talking to a guy—his name eluded her now, but he was nice enough. She'd sat down on the swing, smiling up at the gradually darkening evening sky, when she saw a seemingly inconspicuous couple on a bench nearby. The woman had been wearing a tight black shirt and a scarf that had little flecks of silver white and red intermittently in the fabric. He'd been dressed nondescript, in jeans and a t-shirt, with dark sunglasses and a hat to cover his hair.

She could feel her legs ready to give out as she kept running, hearing Angelus getting on his motorcycle, the hum of the bike menacing. She wished she'd eaten this morning, but there were times when the cost of a meal—what she would have to do to be fed—was just too steep, and this morning was one of those times. Everything had changed that day, when the blonde woman on the bench had looked over at her, a smirk twisting up her painted lips as she whispered something to the man beside her. He lowered his sunglasses and for a split second, Drusilla looked into the eyes of the devil. This was the man from the news, He'd called himself Angelus, and she could see why. He had the face of an angel, hiding the soul of a demon, or so she'd described it. She'd tried to call the police, that was why her parents had given her the cell phone. It just happened that day that it was dead.

Instead of telling the other guy that she was going to leave, she'd stammered something about the stars not being right, and left. She had some sort of fancy-named anxiety disorder, that essentially meant the more upset she was, the less coherent she was capable of being. Sometimes she spoke entirely in metaphors. Angelus hadn't killed them that night, but he'd followed her home. She'd run in fast enough that she had barely seen, but the telltale glint of the silver wings on his motorcycle told her he was there. He would have lost interest had it not been for the call she'd made from home, to the police. They were very nearly caught, and Angelus didn't like close calls. She'd given him a challenge, and he'd responded. It was a week later that her sister's boyfriend had gone missing, and then Uncle Robert, and then her sister, Anne. It had only been Drusilla, her grieving sister, Cecelia and both parents that had been home when Angelus had come. He'd parked that infernal motorcycle on their drive way, and he'd come in, guns flashing.

Drusilla ran into an alley, seeing a fence separating the alley from another one, and then a street. She clawed her way up the fence, a loose link slicing into her finger as she pulled her way up the fence and swung her legs around the top of it, the folded metal at the top shallowly scratching into the skin at the top of her thigh. She didn't stop, swinging herself over the fence and throwing herself from it. A part of her wondered if that would be easier, if she landed wrong and broke her neck. She landed on her feet and kept running. She supposed she'd never know what was easier, as she kept sprinting, the sound of Angelus's motorcycle's engine ringing through the streets like a growl.

He'd first shot out the lock, broken into her house, and then started to aim. No, not to kill, just to incapacitate. He'd at some indeterminable point, shot out the numbers on the phone in the room, no one but Drusilla was even able to drag themselves into another room. He'd told Drusilla he would kill them if she called the police. He did, but more slowly, and she'd just sat there and cried, until her father had yelled for her to run, and she had, out the door and onto the motorcycle. All of his planning, and Angelus hadn't thought to take the keys out of the ignition of his motorcycle. Drusilla had been young at the time, around seventeen. She was barely able to drive the family car, but she hopped aboard that motorcycle and fought with it, driving recklessly fast down the streets on a stolen bike until a turn unseated her entirely. She'd found a church, the kind with the beautiful stained-glass windows, and hid in there, with a nice priest who'd prayed for her soul and treated her wounds. He didn't know there would soon be a devil in his church. With a bullet in his chamber, oh, this would hurt.

Drusilla continued to sprint down the other side of the dimly lit street, hearing the motorcycle's engine rev as he blew down the street, whipping down the corner and onto the same street as her. Drusilla started to scream, attracting the attention of a few people in late-night restaurants. The motorcycle cruised after her smoothly, the purple flames on the front flickering like the scales of a fire breathing dragon. Angelus had found the church, because it was a block away from where his last bike had been abandoned. She'd dubbed it the Fallen Angel, because of the silver wings that adorned the front. He'd found her, shot the priest, and punished her for escaping with his bike right there, in the church, in front of all the stained-glass windows. She'd screamed, but he'd liked it. The way the sound echoed through the all but abandoned church. Actually, Angelus had told her to keep screaming, maybe mix it up, and maybe try a prayer or two. It Drusilla had to force herself to stop thinking about it, because she knew if she did, she'd stop to cry, and she wouldn't be able to run if her sight was blurred.

Her eyes had begun to blur with tears as the memory overtook her, and she ran straight into something. He was a little taller than her, and dripping with spilled coffee, with honest blue eyes, and golden hair. The poet looked down at her, stopping the curse word before it slipped out, seeing the state of the girl who'd hit him. She looked frail, starved even, when he saw how loose her now coffee-soaked dress was. She wore no shoes, and her ankle was bleeding. Bruises bloomed on the skin her dress revealed to him, her calves and arms mostly, though there was a welt on her cheek as though she'd been slapped. But what really struck him was the fear in her eyes, the pain. She looked younger than he was, at twenty three, but he couldn't be certain. "Are-are you alright, love?" he asked gently, knowing she wasn't but wanting to address that he cared. His shirt, despite that it had been white had been mostly protected by his coat, his favourite leather coat. It was no big loss, the rest of his clothing.

She barely heard him, but she could feel something kind about his tone. "Dragon. There's a dragon, and I have to get where the cameras are," she insisted, jerking away from him and running into the coffee shop he'd emerged from. Angelus couldn't be seen on the cameras. She knew Angelus would have to get Darla and Darla would carry her out, tutting like a real mother while in the public eye, and then handing her to Angelus for whatever punishment he would mete out. It wasn't like there was a bloody thing left for him to take from her. The barista looked at her, muttering something to herself, "Miss, we have a strict 'no shirt, no shoes no service policy here," she said tiredly, not bothering to look up from the coffee she was preparing to see how upset Drusilla was, just noting her dirty clothing and bare feet. The man she'd bumped into came into the shop after her, shirt still dripping. She sighed good naturedly at him, "couldn't keep it in your cup," she teased.

He smiled at the barista, who knew him, his university was nearby. "She's with me, Shayla," he said confidently, helping Drusilla into a chair, away from the windows. Drusilla looked up at him like he was a saviour, when the barista smiled back at him and asked him if he'd be needing another coffee. He nodded, and she got started on his drink. He sat down in front of Drusilla, who was still looking at him like he was a god. He'd gotten her, at least temporarily to safety. She knew she would be punished for this greatly later, but for now, she felt safer than she had since her family was alive. "Do you want anything?" he asked, a touch of an accent colouring his words. Drusilla's family was originally from London, and his voice sounded like theirs had. It made her want to trust him a little, except that she had learned that trusting anyone was dangerous. Trust meant letting people in, and assuming they didn't run away, that's where the screaming would start. The screaming, and the pleading and the knife twists deeper.

Drusilla looked at him for a long moment, trying to unscramble the words in her mind. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself enough that she might be semi coherent. "Tea," she said softly, trying not to say anything that might frighten the man away. "I used to drink tea, and mum would make the most delightful little muffins. Sometimes we ate them with strawberries, and Cecelia would pretend she was bleeding," she paused, "And I tried to wake her, but it wasn't berries," she said softly, remembering how at first, she'd tried to drag her unconscious, possibly dead sister away from Angelus, how she'd been whispering to Cecelia about berries. The man looked absolutely horrified as he looked at her, and she realized she'd said far too much. Well done, Dru, make him run away, run and run and run and catch. Except she wouldn't catch, she wouldn't try.

The man was horrified, but not with Drusilla for saying it. "Do you want anything to eat?" he asked her softly, trying not to say anything that would hurt her. He wracked his brain for anything he'd heard in the news about murders, and came up mostly blank, but with a sick feeling. There was one article he'd read—wow; he would have still been in high school. It was five years ago, and there was a killer in the city, who'd brutally murdered a family in the north end. He looked at her for a long moment. There had been one body they never found, that of a seventeen year old girl, but they assumed her dead. He'd seen the picture, and she'd gone to the school his was rivals with. This girl could be an older, gaunter version of her. He hoped not though, who knew what she'd endured in the five years that had passed, if that was her?

She looked at him for a long moment after he asked her if she wanted something to eat. Angelus did that too, but generally, if she said yes, he would tell her what she had to do to get the food and it would be a debate for her, if the food was worth the debasement. _Does the pain weigh out the pride, _it was in lyrics to something. It hadn't been worth it for the past three days. She nodded tentatively, "what does it cost?" she asked him, ready to do what she had to do to get a meal. He was nice, so surely his price would be better than her captor's had been. The look returned to the man's face, and she wondered if the problem was that he was repulsed by her. Then, there may not be a price, because she didn't have anything he wanted. She prayed that there was something she could do to get the food.

He ordered food for both of them and then looked at her for a long moment as she asked him what the cost was. He was a linguist, and he didn't like the nuance there. If she was talking about money, she would have said "price" but she'd asked for the cost. He hoped she didn't think this would indebt her to him, or worse, that she would only be fed if she could… oh, lord, was that why she was so thin? He knew she would think he was being sneaky if he told her it was free, nothing in this world is in the end. He knew that. Maybe he could use this as a way to find out if she was who he'd thought she was. "Your name?" he asked, as the barista came by with her signature soup, raising an eyebrow at him, but not commenting. She liked him well enough, and he was a regular, but sometimes, she just didn't understand why he did some of the things he did.

She was confused why he cared. He captors never bothered with her real name, she'd learned to answer to all manner of insults. If that was what she had to give him for the delicious-smelling bowl of soup, she'd give it to him in a heartbeat. The way that soup smelled, a name was nothing to give, she'd sell her soul for it. "I don't have a name now," she admitted, blushing and looking down at her dirty hands, tracing a finger down the cut on her palm from the fence. "But I used to be Dru, Drusilla Keeble," she added, knowing that the first response wasn't good enough to earn her the soup in front of her. She tried to remember if she knew him, if they'd met anywhere before, but her memories were little stars, and they didn't like breaking into constellations, preferring to stay all scattered, like maddening little pinpoints of light. Only the bad memories stuck together, like clouds, obscuring the night sky she'd known before.

He looked at her, horror growing. He didn't quite remember the name of the girl form the news article, but he remembered that it was something unusual. The fact that she told him she didn't have a name now though, that was saddening. He could use that line somewhere though. He tried to put a smile on for her, offering her a spoon, "let me know if you want any more, Dru," he said, testing out her name. There was another nuance to that sentence, when she said she used to be Dru, as opposed to she used to be named Dru. He figured that was deliberate. After what he thought might have happened to her, he wouldn't be the same either. It seemed talking to her was a game of metaphors and nuances. He took a sip of his own soup, still quite hot, and pulled a pen from his pocket, writing out, "_when she's found she is lost/ and she asks for the cost_," in a messy, left handed scrawl. "I'm Will, by the way, William Pratt."

She looked up from her soup—it truly was delicious, despite being burning hot. "Will," she said softly, thinking about what else the word signified, freedom, determination, desire. You can have a will, free will, your will can be done. She liked that, the meaning to his name. Maybe she needed to find some will, the will to fight on, because she was so tired. She woundered if Will could give her that will to go on, "that's something I haven't had in a while."


	2. Effulgent

**I've never written a chapter two that isn't an independent story (a sequel to Saints is in the making) bear with me on this. Author's notes are not my forte. Also, thank you to a wonderful anon for the review. It made my day and then some and I hope you like this chapter just as much. **

**Question to readers: I have inspiration for a backstory one shot (something to the effect of Stained Glass Saints, about Dru) on each member of the Fanged Four. Is anyone interested?**

**Previously: Drusilla has escaped from Angelus, and met a university student, William Pratt. She bumped into him and he took pity on her, buying her food and learning that she's had quite a tough life. Poetry was written, and name-related metaphors were thrown around. Also, William seems to be wonderful with nuances. What a poet.**

**Chapter warnings: references to past abuse. They were implied, so really, it's a thing with the reader as to how far they construe them. Nothing is (yet) explicitly stated. This could probably slip by as T.**

"That's something I haven't had in a while." There was silence after her words. William had never looked at his name like that. For all of his love of words, he had never noticed all the connotations to his name. A will could be a desire, like will to live, or determination, as in strong-willed. Free will is something he hoped someone could give her back. But she missed a connotation, will can be a promise. He couldn't promise her much, just a bowl of soup and a sympathetic ear if he wanted to talk, but what he could do, he could promise her. If there was somewhere he could take her, he would, and if she needed money, well, starving student, he only had so much, but he'd give her whatever she needed.

He looked up at her, taking a sip of soup, noticing hers was almost gone, and jotted down another couple lines of poetry, "_she hasn't a name, but she carries on still/ trying to find her strength of will," _he jotted down, feeling saddened by the line. He hadn't had time to write much between classes, but this was brilliant albeit tragic inspiration. He looked up to see she'd finished her soup, and he smiled. She looked so happy, after finally eating. Who knew how little she would have eaten in the last five years, assuming this is the same girl as he was thinking of from the article. He sat there still, looking at her for a moment as he wondered if she was still hungry, "do you want more?" he asked her, thinking up a question to ask her as a 'cost'. Perhaps he would ask her if there was anywhere she wanted to go. He hoped there was, because he couldn't leave her here in good conscience. _What would he do if she had nowhere to go?_

She looked up from the empty bowl. "You would give me more?" she asked, eyes wide with wonder. Angelus would just tell her that she was a greedy little… and give her a price step enough that she'd balk. Either that or descriptive enough that she'd whatever meal she'd just consumed. It had happened before. William was offering her more, and probably with an easy cost that wouldn't hurt at all. Why was William doing this, so selflessly? Why would he buy her food, good, warm food, and sit with her like he was a friend? She didn't have friends, if her nervous metaphor-problem didn't get in the way, her trust issues did, and Angelus didn't like it when she talked to strangers. He would punish her for this. She didn't even want to think about what he would do to her for this, she was resisting him, talking to a strange man, eating without having to suffer his costs and she finally felt like a person. It was wrong. She wasn't a person. She'd learned that fast enough. She didn't deserve William's kindness. She was taking advantage of him. She was a thing, and he shouldn't be treating her like this, equal.

He smiled when she asked him so incredulously if he would give her more. He looked up at the menu, smiling at her, "unless, of course, you want something else," he suggested, finishing his soup. He was full, but he'd eaten three—okay, sometimes two when it was close to payday, and he was close to broke—meals a day, and he wasn't certain if she was always guaranteed one. "_Human kindness widens her eyes/ why is someone who cares a surprise?" _He loved the little couplets he wrote about her. No one had ever looked at him like the way she looked at him as if he was a saviour but it saddened him that it was over something as small as basic human kindness. He supposed basic human kindness was something she wasn't shown often, wherever she'd escaped from.

Drusilla looked over at someone walking off with some sort of delicious smelling grilled thing. She gestured to it, "can I have that, please?" she asked. Oh, no, that was dreadfully selfish of her, wanting more, acting like she deserved it. She never deserved it. She was just good for a couple of things, neither of which William had requested from her. That was why she didn't have a name. She didn't need one. "Sorry. I shouldn't. It's not right. The stars are so bright, but I'm full of dark. I'm nothing in the light," she choked out, looking around, feeling sick already for taking advantage of Will's kindness. She looked at the words scrawled on his napkin, not reading them, but feeling like they were wrapping around her, binding her, choking her. She teared up, getting up, looking around. "Nothing," she said, hating herself for not being able to tell him something a little more distinct.

The instant she started to panic, William got up, taking her hands, his mind kicking into overdrive to figure out what she meant. The brightness of the stars could be humanity, and maybe she assumed she'd lost hers. He didn't blame her. He knew very little about her life, but he knew that she wasn't treated as a human. "You can be full of light, love. See, right now, you've gone so long without food, and you're too busy thinking about being an inconvenience. Bloody selfless of you," he complimented her, helping her slowly, gently back into the chair. She didn't fight him, and that worried him, anger, they could deal with, but giving up was another story. "But I have nowhere else to be tonight, I like talking to you, and you need the food." She nodded to him, and he ordered the food, not liking the way she sat, rigid in the chair, as though she did it to obey him, instead of because she wanted to. It was easy enough to teach a girl that she was a thing, particularly with force, as it would seem her captor had. The hard part was convincing a girl who thought she was a thing that she was a girl. And it was from that moment William knew he would have to.

Drusilla sat down when he asked her to, knowing that she owed him this. He was paying for her food and she should stop making a scene and just do as she was told. She had no right to disobey him, with all he was giving her. She couldn't be full of light like he thought. She was doing this because she knew she didn't deserve the things he was giving her, and she was almost sickened by herself. Had Will ever looked in the mirror and hated the man looking back? Did he understand that? She doubted it. Drusilla waited until the food came, and then looked up at him, "what's the cost?" she asked cautiously, looking him almost in the eyes, but not quite, still showing him that this was his choice, that he was the one in power. Only people got power. She wasn't a person, she was a convenience. A doll, in a sense. She had a function, and beyond that, she was useless. She was terrible around people, and not always coherent, she hadn't had the chance to finish high school, and she didn't think she could function it the real world. She just ate and wasted the space, and that was why she was supposed to stay with Angelus, because he owned her.

Will looked at her for a long moment, knowing he'd done something wrong by establishing that there were costs. The balance of power wasn't right. He didn't want to have any power over her, that wouldn't be right. He shook his head. "No cost. I'm just a friend having a meal with a friend. I don't charge my friends when they need something," he insisted, hoping that by telling her this, he could make things a little more equal between them. He knew she didn't see herself as equal to him, probably not even as human, but if maybe he could get her through that, get her to see him as no better or worse than him, she would start so see herself as equal to more than just him. He had to try. She just looked confused. He wondered if before she'd had many friends. He knew that without the bruises, and the silver scars traced up her arms, and with a meal, she would be beautiful. She was still to him, but beautiful in a tragic way. Once, he'd taken a trip to a cemetery, it was beside the gardens they had visited during an art trip in ninth grade. There had been a concrete angel there, permanently frozen looking mournfully at the sky. She was shattered, cracked, and with pieces missing, but he can see who she'd once been. He'd sketched her, while most of the girls in the class had gone to the gardens nearby. Drusilla was like the angel, beautiful in a sad, tragic way.

She carefully took a bite of the food, humming in pleasure, keeping her eyes on Will to make sure it wasn't a trick. She didn't know what to make of this, that he'd just given her this, called her a friend. Her inability to sound coherent under stress meant a lot of people preferred to mock her, even while her family was alive, and she'd spent the past five years in isolation. Darla would sometimes treat her like a person, do her hair, make her look nice, but they couldn't talk. Darla was just a sneakier enemy. She let Angelus do as he pleased, but she also worked her way into Drusilla's head, seemed almost good for moments and then betrayed her to him. When Will just smiled at her encouragingly, she tried to smile back, "I'm having a meal with my friend Will," she said softly, trying to catch a glance at the scrawlings on his napkin, wondering what they were. It wasn't her business, but he found his words fascinating. She watched as he wrote, not able to decode his writing upside down, but oddly relaxed watching. She didn't belong here, and she didn't deserve his kindness, but she knew she'd pay for it, and she wanted to enjoy it while she could, before she'd pay for it. She looked up at him, "the stars shine on you, bright enough that you are one," she complimented him. Oh, why couldn't she have thanked him like a normal person?

He was taken aback by her way of thanking him, words a poet could appreciate. He wrote down on his napkin, "_On broken angels stars shine, and ever (luminous) are mine," _He didn't really like his use of the word 'luminous, hence the parentheses. When he thought luminous, it gave him a visual of cold, sleek, even light, not at all like the intermittent, more imperfect light he could envision. The word he searched for needed a less perfect connotation, because if he was the star, he would shine a less even light, warmer, but a little flickering, like a candle. This was the very spirit of vexation, knowing the perfect word existed but not being able to find it. Then, he remembered that generally, when people speak to you, it's a lot more polite to at some point respond. _Well done, William_. "That might be one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me," he told her softly, glad she seemed to be enjoying her food. How long had it been since she'd been given food that didn't cost her anything? It felt like a violation to google her name and see if she was who he thought she was, but just from the little things she'd said, he could be certain it was a while.

Drusilla was surprised that he considered her nonsense to be a compliment. Perhaps he hadn't and that was why it had taken him so long to respond. Perhaps he'd said it to humor her, although she'd noticed he'd written more on his napkin. Was he taking notes on her, and if he was, what for? She'd been sent to a school councillor several times after numerous outbursts, not to mention, her science teacher couldn't stand the confusing answers she'd offer if a test stressed her out. The councillor had reminded her of those funny lizards that changed colours—chameleons? First she'd tried to be a friend, and told Drusilla that there was nothing wrong with her, and she could always count on her. Drusilla hadn't wanted a friend that took notes about her life, interspersed with occasional _hmm's_. Then came the clinical approach, with no personal speaking at all, just big long diagnoses that Drusilla could never remember quite well enough to echo back to her mother. She'd been a person at the time—she wasn't quite certain what she was now, but then she'd been a person, treated as a specimen. Her life was flipped and flopped, when she was a person, no one treated her as one, and now that she was a thing, Will treated her like a person. It didn't make sense, and she wanted to understand. "Will?" she implored softly, "you're my friend," or so he'd insisted, "why is that?"

Will's smile vanished when she asked him so uncertainly why he was treating her like a friend. _Why was he doing this?_ Really, anyone else would have just been angry with the girl for spilling their coffee, and then disdainful once they got a better look at her. She looked as though she was either a runaway, or a beggar. He didn't care, but most people would have admonished her for spilling their coffee, and then stormed away, in a fit of frustration. He'd bought her food and written poetry. No wonder Shayla thought he was losing it. Most people, as they got into their cars, dripping with coffee and seething about the girl's carelessness, would have felt guilty if they saw her face in the paper a few weeks later, and the man she'd been running from had killed her, or beaten her, or done something. Then suddenly, spilled coffee would mean a lot less. Will wouldn't, because she wasn't going to be another story—not unless she was around to tell it.

"I'm your friend," he said, taking a sip of coffee, "because you needed one and I like talking to you," he made it simple, normal. He didn't want her to feel like this was out of pity—maybe initially, but then the poetry had started. He was benefitting from this in a way by the words he wrote. "Do you have anywhere to go?" he asked her, wondering what his roommate would think of this. Jake was a nice guy, but he wasn't sure what Jake would make of this girl. He couldn't just leave her here though, and he figured she would have a better chance at getting the police to understand her if she calmed down and spoke a little more literally. They might think she was delusional or worse high. Jake surely couldn't object to her spending one night with them.

Drusilla wondered why he liked talking to her. She barely understood her own words sometimes, but maybe Will liked the mystery, or maybe Will was telling a little white lie. She was distracted by his next question. "I'm to go into the police station. They'll ask me why I'm there, and I'll tell them of the dragons that follow me, and they'll ask me if I'm a kite. I shall tell them I'm a doll, not a kite, not a girl, and then they'll put pretty silver bracelets on my wrists and wait for the dragon's mate to come get me tomorrow." This escape would end no differently than the first had. She got enough food to get her through a couple weeks, she figured, and maybe a day of freedom. She'd found a friend, found her Will. It was worth whatever Angelus would do to her for leaving. One day like this would be enough, and did she deserve any more? Drusilla was a doll, not meant for a life of her own. Maybe that's why she hadn't had a will.

Will looked horrified for the umpteenth time that night. As a poet, just the implications of her explanation were saddening. He had a theory that the dragon was the man on that motorcycle, who had blown by him at around double the speed limit, cursing loudly. His bike had iridescent purple flames that look like dragon's fire. In mythology, dragons were greedy as well, hoarding money and occasionally beautiful women. They could also easily wreak destruction. He didn't like the idea of letting her be captured by a dragon. The police asking her if she was a kite was her way of saying "high" and that didn't shock him either. She didn't look high, but the way she spoke, he understood them making that mistake. You had to have a bit of poet in you to understand her, and he was certain late night police officers dealing with girls talking about dragons would be right, in their line of work, to assume that she was high. The saddest part of the sentence for Will was when she told him that she was a doll. He didn't want to construe that, but he understood what she meant. "Come with me. We'll get you all cleaned up so the police don't mistake you for a kite. Then, maybe you won't have to go back with the dragons," he suggested.

Drusilla hadn't been listening. She'd spun his napkin around, curiosity besting her as it always did. His words were beautiful. For just a moment she felt something reading them. The image she got when she read them was of a person, struck by hardships and battling to continue. A person, that was how he saw her. She wondered why luminous was in brackets. Had the word been bad? Was he punishing the word for not being right? She knew how that word felt. Perhaps it was just wrong for the sentence, and he wanted to find a word that would feel at home there, because it didn't. It was confusing. And what did he mean by broken angels? Did he know who she was, was that a subtle hint? Angelus wasn't broken, and he was the only Angel she knew. The biblical kind couldn't be real if none had saved her. If he was looking for another word, perhaps she had one for him. "If luminous has been bad, I might have a word," she told him carefully, hoping he wasn't angry with her for looking at his words.

Will was shocked that someone had read and liked his poetry. Generally, only his mother and his grade twelve English teacher thought it was half decent. She spoke in poetry enough that it shouldn't have shocked him. It would be interesting to see what word her mind had come up with, and the word didn't fit. "Luminous is a perfectly perfect word," he defended it, "but its connotation wasn't right. It felt colder," he sounded like an 'artistic soul' as Shayla was apt to label him when he got talking about words and connotations. If there was ever someone who understood this, it would be her.

Drusilla liked his explanation of the word. She'd remembered something she'd written when she was still in school, the way she'd battled with words for a poem she wrote. Resplendent was the word she'd come up with, but it sounded haughty, so she'd keyed it into an online thesaurus, looking for a word that would suit it. She was describing the way the starlight was like home; the actual words had long escaped her. She'd chosen a word that felt warm, and comfortable, and just a little new, since she hadn't heard it before. "Perhaps effulgent?"


	3. Dragons

**I was amazed by the reviews I got on the last chapter, so I just wanted to thank my two wonderful reviewers. Nothing motivates me to write more than your kind words. I'm so lucky to have you, and I hope this chapter is as good as the last two! **

**Previously: much poetry was written, and William made a few more insights into Dru and what she's been through. She tries to leave, not thinking she deserves it, because she's not used to people treating her like a person. After Drusilla reveals to William that she's going to go to the police and she already knows they'll just send her with Darla, and then gives him a certain word for his poetry, he knows he can't let her go back there…**

**Warnings:  
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"Perhaps effulgent?" she suggested, and he smiled, thinking about the word. It was a nice word, the way it seemed full of… well, something. It almost seemed like the intermittent starlight he'd drawn the angel in, the way she'd told him he shone like the stars. He did love the way she spoke, despite that it kept him on his feet, having to interpret, and he was always being caught off guard by some of the things she said. She scratched out luminous and wrote effulgent in. It already seemed to fit in there, to be right. He couldn't just leave her there, to be taken back into their captivity.

"It's a perfect word, love!" he exclaimed excitedly, standing up, looking at the time. He'd promised Jake he'd be home by ten so he could for once do his own laundry before it got late, and the machine got obnoxiously loud. It was now quarter to eleven. Oh well. "But it's getting late, and I need to know if you'd want somewhere safe to sleep for the night. No pretty silver bracelets where I'm going, or dragons," he knew she would panic at first at the offer, a strange man trying to take her home with him, but he didn't want to hurt her. Actually, he was pretty sure that he was the only one who cared enough to end the hurt, but he hoped not. He hoped she had someone who wasn't a random poet who'd fed her once. If she did, he was sure she wouldn't have come here.

Drusilla looked up at him dubiously. If there was ever someone she trusted, it would be Will. He could easily have hurt her outside the coffee shop, there was an alley nearby, and she was hardly coherent enough that anyone would believe her. He hadn't hurt her, he'd just taken her in and bought her food, wrote beautiful words that made her feel like a person—or, more like a person than she should feel. She couldn't take any more from him, but she wanted to. _"You don't deserve it," _she could remember Angelus saying as she'd begged him to let her go, _"This is what you are now. You want to eat, then I'd recommend hurrying up, before food gets cold." _And she could remember vividly what she'd done, how disgusted she'd felt with him, herself, the world after. If what he said was true, she didn't belong in Will's home. "I can't," she said softly, "not right."

Will nodded, understanding her dilemma. He took a new napkin and copied the last couplet he'd written on it, before adding his contact information, name, address, phone number, cell number, etcetera. "If you change your mind, or they do put the shiny silver bracelets on you and you want out, they'll give you one phone call, and you can call this number. I'll come, it doesn't matter what time it is," he assured her, handing her the napkin. He'd have to remember to actually charge the phone, and try to get the laundry done for once. He had a feeling this would be one of is poet-insomniac nights anyways, since he was inspired and he had class tomorrow. It didn't really matter that he had class, because when he was inspired, he would write the night away, and then write through class, and still keep writing while Jake went out. No wonder he was single.

Drusilla took the napkin into her hand like it was a baby birdie. It was hope, right there, a slightly crumpled white piece of hope. She smiled at Will's words, he would include the words she'd helped him with. Effulgent looked right at home there, at her word interspersed with his. It was a nice word. She was proud of herself for being able to communicate it to him without saying anything else odd. It was a miracle that this poet understood her. She'd have to call him some time if it got bad and she was going to make another escape. They could meet again, and she could maybe steal some money this time, pay for her own food. She could dream. How sad it was that she dreamed of buying herself a meal with a friend? She used to have dreams, real ones, but they were as unattainable as another meal with Will would likely be. Still, she would always have these memories, "Thank you, Will. For everything. You've been my star effulgent, and I hope there will be more time,=," she said softly, standing up.

Will followed her to the door, "I'll drive you to the station," he said, smiling. In the time he'd known Drusilla, short though it was, he'd developed a peculiar fondness for her. He really wanted to see her be alright, to see her happy, and watch the bruises heal. He wanted the headlines to be "Girl, kidnapped finally finishes high school" or "criminal apprehended, girl to live on". As an intern at a newspaper, he'd write the story himself just to see her happy. As long as he didn't have to print a billion copies of "girl found dead". He didn't think he could bear that. What did it say to him that the only girl he'd been out with in the three years since high school didn't consider herself a person? Either that he needed to get a cat, or that he needed to get out more, one of the two. Maybe it said he was doing things right, because where Jake's dates would eventually forget his name, Drusilla would always have a bit of will, or he liked to think so.

Drusilla hadn't been in a car in a long time. Darla and Angelus preferred motorcycles. When she saw Will's, a beat up silvery thing with papers strewn over the back seat, it looked a lot different than the dragon or the fallen angel. She opened the back seat door, but Will shut it, opening the passenger side. She smiled gratefully and got up, sitting on the passenger seat, letting the scent of paper and car fill her consciousness. Will got in the driver's seat, comfortably merging into the nonexistent traffic. She wondered if she would have gotten this good at driving, been able to make the car do her will. Will. Oh, there was that word. She knew whatever happened, she would smile when she heard his name. "You really do shine," she said appreciatively, looking at his face in the steady glow of the red light. William's light wasn't hard and red, but soft and golden and flickery, like a candle.

Will smiled, making a turn and pulling her into the police station. "Well, remember that I'll be just a call away. Just call, if you need me, I'll be there. It doesn't matter what time. I'm a student, we don't sleep," he joked, getting out to help her out, wishing this didn't have to be goodbye. Maybe this would be where she got her life back, and he would be glad he'd let her do this, but maybe she would be misunderstood again, and carried away by the dragons again because she didn't think she deserved to be rescued. He'd come back to check on her in the morning, he decided. "Good luck," he said softly, helping her out of the car, waiting for her to say goodbye so he could go home and attempt to explain to his roommate what had kept him out so late.

Drusilla had suffered a lot of things, had to do a lot of things, just so she could survive. But there was one thing she hadn't done. She let her non-cut hand slip into William's hair, wondering what she was doing, if he would recoil in disgust. She probably looked like she'd been living on the streets, and he knew fully well that she was damaged. He'd be a fool to want her, but she needed to do this, to remember one first fondly. She kissed him gently, letting her other hand take his. She supposed a kiss seemed inconsequential to most, just something you do at the end of the night if the date goes half-decent. She'd never been kissed. Angelus probably thought it was unimportant, she was seventeen, surely that wouldn't phase her as much as a lot of other things, but being the school lunatic, no one had ever wanted to. Did Will want to? Should she have asked him first? She figured she should have, so she broke the kiss. "I'm sorry," she looked down as she spoke, "shouldn't have. Wasn't my right."

Will was shocked when she kissed him, feeling something in the way her lips caressed his, knowing this meant something to her. Yeah, university student, he'd been kissed a couple of times, but none that meant a thing. When Drusilla kissed him, it was like she was showing him her soul, hoping that he wouldn't stomp it into the ground. Then, she apologized, thinking he hadn't wanted it. Nothing could be further from the truth. As a poet, he loved this, her on her way, trying to save herself, the way the moonlight was kind to her, bathing her in its silvery glow. "I'm not sorry, Drusilla," he promised her, stroking the hair out of her eyes, making her finally look into his and just kissing her softly, chastely. He wanted to give her strength, tell her that he was true, that he did want to see her succeed; he would be there for her. Oh, lord. Was he falling for her? Bad William, falling for someone you may never see again. Someone who might never be able to trust him. "Even if you don't need to be picked up, call me," he told her sweetly, getting back into the car.

Drusilla couldn't explain what this feeling was, but she felt alive. Her lips tingled as she entered the station, waving goodbye to Will. But no, she had Will, like a little star, glowing from within. She walked up to the desk, smiling at the officer, who asked her why she was here. Her smile grew, she would testify and she was certain there was some sort of evidence on her body, something to reveal who she was, where she'd come from. They wouldn't call the dragons this time, she was safe. "The dragons took me years ago," she said softly. Okay, try it again, Dru. No problem. Try not to sound like a kite this time. You can do it. "With the face of the angel. Five years passed. Found my will and my Will took me here, made it right. Wrong made so right." Close enough. That was the most coherent she'd sounded in years, so hopefully the officer was like Will and had a bit of poet in him.

He didn't. He took a couple things down as notes though, "So, you're telling me that you've been with the angels for five years?" he asked her, already writing her off as another addict. It made everything easier when they turned themselves in. She looked the part, too. White dress stained with all sorts of things, dirty and bleeding, looks like she hasn't eaten right in months. He had a soft spot for these ones. He had a daughter around her age, and he'd always seen them as someone else's child, despite that they were legally an adult. "Where are your parents?" she asked, wondering if the angels she spoke of were a gang, or a group of street walkers, or a homeless shelter. It could be anything. This was his least favourite part of the job, trying to decipher what they were saying. The metaphoric ones gave him a headache.

This was further than she got last time, so she cheered for herself mentally. She was doing it. "The angels took my family away when they took me," Drusilla told him softly, "and there were devils in the church. See, angels lie. He's only an angel by name, and a devil by rights. It a contradiction. Not right," she explained, sitting back. She didn't sound quite like the rest of them, not as coherent as they were, but she sounded right. She was sure they could understand this. There had been a family killed five years ago with one survivor, and a church shooting. Surely that would make sense to him. Weren't police officers supposed to be smart? But Angelus was being sneaky, and he hadn't killed anyone noticeable in at least three years. What if they'd forgotten him, forgotten her and though she was making all this up?

The officer knew her words reminded him vaguely of something, he scrawled down a couple more notes, wondering what she could mean. There hadn't been any church-shootings in five years, and that wasn't one he'd liked to think of. They'd sent him, still in training, with a couple older officers. He'd catalogued the evidence, a bullet, shreds of what they'd assumed to be a dress. They DNA-tested the blood they'd found, but found only more disturbing evidence, and nothing that belonged to the perpetrator. He'd cleaned up after himself almost too well. There was no way that girl was alive though, five years after that. Odds were he'd just hidden her body. "So where have you been before you came here?" he tried, hoping that she was just another addict. He'd return her to the family she'd come from, minimal charges, and they'd get her the help she needed. There was no way this alarming story was the same girl as his first case.

She shook her head. This was where it got hard. She could see little flashes, hear all the horrible things he'd called her ringing through her ears as the officer asked her where she'd been. The dragons had turned her from a person to a doll, and not even a pretty doll, the broken kind of doll that served her purpose and then got shut in the closet so no one had to look at her until they needed to. She wondered why Will had wanted to kiss her. She was certain the way Will had treated her that any number of real people would want him, people who looked right and talked right and had futures. Why would he kiss her like that, like she was a person and he loved the person she was? People didn't even do that when she was one. "Dragons. I was with the dragons, and they burned me until I stopped fighting. Then I ate with a white knight who's pen is his sword, or however that goes, and he brought me here, for confession, but I haven't done anything wrong, Father." She wondered where that clarity had gone. She was talking almost like she was alright until the memories overtook her.

That's when the officer decided she was high. For god's sake, she was telling him fairytales. He'd send her into the holding cell for now, and see what he could do about tracking someone down to come pick her up. If it was true that her family was dead, perhaps he could find a shelter that would take her in, or a friend of hers, someone. He was certain he'd find her somewhere to go. She did look like she needed something. He looked at her for a long moment, trying to determine what he was going to say next, "Are you high, Miss?" he asked gently, "I'm not going to arrest you, you don't seem to be carrying any, but if you are, you need to sleep it off and see if you feel any better. Do you have anyone you can call?" he asked her gently. He really didn't want to send her to the holding cell with the others in there, particularly not tonight. They had a drunk driver and someone they knew was high on something that made him rather violent. He was chained to a wall now, but he still had his legs free. Not to mention, what words could do.

Drusilla smiled wanly at the officer, "But I'm not a kite, or a girl, I'm a doll. You going to put me into the closet, officer?" she asked, gesturing to the cell. Then she looked to the napkin in her hand and smiled at it. She did have someone to call. "If I'm not going to the closet with all the other good little dollies, then my Will will carry me home," she said wistfully, looking at the paper, seeing the number on the napkin and showing the officer, so he knew her will was a person. A good person, with the soul of a poet and blue eyes like the sky. Just as she got to the phone, about to make the call, a familiar face came in, clothed in a tight red dress that ensured there'd be no argument rom the officer. Darla. No. No, she'd just found her will, she wasn't going back to the dragons.

The officer approached the newcomer, already well under her spell. "Evening, Miss. Anything I can do for you?" he asked, looking at her. She was gorgeous, the kind of girl that would never give someone like him a second glance. Not that he wanted her to glance, he was a married man, but if she did by chance glance, he'd be fine with it. Maybe he'd glance back. She looked like she was off to some society event, the tress tight and red, but not too tight, falling to a tasteful length at her legs, and revealing enough but not too much of her ample cleavage. Not that he'd stopped to notice, but if he did, then it wasn't for reasons. He hair was up in an elegant twist as well, and sort of a beautiful platinum colour. Also, he was only noticing because he had to take a description of the people who entered. They had a camera, but thoroughness. This was just him being professional.

"I'm so sorry for any problem's she'd caused, officer. This is my Daughter, Michela," she smiled wickedly at Drusilla, "she's very ill," she turned to Drusilla, "are you still taking your meds, sweetie?" she asked, sounding like a caring mother. "Don't worry, we'll take you home. Daddy's quite excited to see you." And maybe the officer didn't hear the malice in her voice, but Drusilla did.


	4. Dollies and Destiny

**I'm completely honoured that there are people, real people who are interested in seeing how this goes, the response has been overwhelming. You people are truly wonderful, and I hope I don't let you down. There were many ways I could take this next scene. For plot, there had to be…well, things get worse, far worse before they get better… I know you guys asked me not to. As a reader, I would do the same, but…**

**Previously: Drusilla decided to try going to the police again. You know what the real definition of insanity is? Doing the same thing over and expecting different results. Will drives her there, and she kisses him. Then he kisses her. And beautiful shipping was born. Or, maybe not. But almost. Almost. Drusilla's confrontation with the officer goes only marginally better, and he wants to send her home. Before she can call William, Darla arrives, calling her by a false name and trying to take her back with her.**

**Disclaimer: the ideas from Destiny (AtS season 5) belongs to Joss Whedon, as do the characters, and my soul. Also, the song that I used for a foreshadowing ringtone was "Time is Running Out" by Muse. That belongs to Muse, not me. **

**Warnings: this could potentially be a bad chapter. JustAnotherFAYZ, you might consider a defibrillator, just putting that out there. Not as bad as last time though… I made use of cut scenes. Warnings for: violence, abuse of virtually every nature (though, somehow it worked best if I kept most of the verbal at the reader's discretion), and implied (because I never actually describe things) rape. My incorporation of a scene from the episode "Destiny" from Angel season five. Before this, it could've crept by at a high T, this is M. If that kind of content isn't for you, rejoin us next chapter and use the"previously" to catch up.**

Will got home, a goofy smile on his face. He could still feel Drusilla's lips on his own, and he skipped in, smiling brightly at his roommate as he entered, "hello, Jake," he said in an overly upbeat tone, sitting down on the couch beside the younger student. "Wonderful night, innit?" he asked, his accent shining through a little more than normal. Normally it was a lot less distinct, but get him excited and he started to sound like he'd just come from London again. He mummed cheerily, getting his notebook out again, wanting to get the few lines he'd thought up written down and into a poem. Oh, this was a wonderful night indeed. He started to hum as he wrote, wondering if, perhaps this was meant to happen.

Jake squinted at him, trying to work out what he was doing. "Alright Mary Poppins," he teased, "What did you do?" he asked. There were only two times William acted like this: when he was acting like a complete poet and falling in love with someone ridiculously out of his league or when he'd done something wrong and he was trying to overcompensate. Jake hoped this wasn't another Cecily. One could only take so much poetry and depressing music before considering strangling Will. Jake sighed, remembering the time he'd awoken to breakfast in bed for three days straight, because Will had accidentally broken one of the taps on the sink. Their kitchen was a time bomb, he wasn't even upset. It was just a Will thing; he did random little things like that when he felt like he needed to. Some woman was probably going to walk all over him some day. He'd probably enjoy it too.

William looked up at Jake, taking off his coat and revealing his coffee-stained shirt, "Do you believe in destiny, Jake?" he asked, beaming, looking from paper to friend. Jake looked confused and a little worried, so he sat back, waiting for Will to elaborate. Will didn't know how else to explain it. A girl who suffered so long finding the one person who wouldn't turn away, who would hear her, and he did. He drove her to the station, kissed her, and gave her back the life she'd been deprived of, a concrete angel now fully alive. Will loved knowing that he'd been the one to give this back to her. "I met her while she was on the run. She was like the angel I sketched, Jake. Like the angel, and I got her food and took her to go talk to the police, finally get justice. And maybe it was fate. Maybe she found me because fate needed someone who would fight for her."

Jake cut him off, "whoa, whoa, whoa. Okay, before you get too impossible to reason with here, Romeo, let's think clearly. So, you bought a meal for a girl that seemed to be running from something, and then dropped her off at the police station. You're sure this was a date and not a citizen's arrest?" he asked, genuinely worried for his friend. Wouldn't it be just like Will to fall in love with a criminal, try to change her and get killed in the process? Really, Jake was just trying to look out for him. He whipped out his smartphone, ready to determine how much danger his roommate was it, "Did she give you a name, at least?" he asked skeptically, ready to google the girl, hoping she hadn't given him a pseudonym.

Will frowned at Jake's cynicism. He didn't get it. Maybe Will hadn't explained it quite right. "She's the victim in all this, Jake. She hadn't had a meal in… well, I'm not actually certain; it had been quite a while. Shayla thought I was insane, of course," he explained, resuming his poetry, trying to think up a title, while mostly just sketching the angel from the cemetery again, or rather, Drusilla with wings, in a long, flowing dress. Yeah, she was chipped, but she could see who she'd been, how she would have looked if the world hadn't been hellbent on tearing her down. Oh, right, Jake had wanted her name. "Drusilla Keeble," he said softly, remembering how she'd told him that used to be her name, and she didn't have one now. Maybe he could make that change, make sure she knew she was a person, deserved things like a name, and food, and free will. She'd have to call him once the legal stuff was done, or even during, if she wanted some peace during the hectic trials and the like.

Jake watched his dreamer of a roommate stared off into space, thinking about the girl that he'd met. The name bothered him. He knew it from somewhere. He typed it into the google app on his phone, seeing what came up. There were loads of results—a fact that didn't bode well for his love-struck friend. When he clicked one of them, an article from the same paper Will was an intern at, he gasped softly. The headline was "_A devil in the Church,_" And it detailed a crime that had happened… well, a while ago, February of five years ago. There had been a girl who disappeared at Jake's school that year, her family murdered, her blood found in a church on the northern side of town. They never recovered a body, but the scene was consistent with a high-profile serial killer who'd dubbed himself Angelus. Jake scrolled lower, finding a picture of the girl and her family. Oh! He knew her! She'd been in his sister, Sophie's English class. Sophie hadn't known her, but once he saw the photo, he remembered how insane things at school had gotten when she'd been abducted. Sophie had stayed home for three days, and she never missed school. "This her?" he asked, showing Will the smiling girl in the picture.

Will looked at the photo of Dru, seeing her happy, safe, surrounded by those who loved her. The photo was in bright colour, enough so that he could see the lightness to her blue eyes, not het filled with the ghosts of the past five years. It should have been in black and white, because a lifetime passed in those five years, a life was changed irrevocably. He looked at the picture, nodding sadly, "that's my girl," he said softly, seeing how much she'd lost. He wanted to hold her and make the pain go away, but that wasn't possible, or he didn't think it was. A kiss doesn't make the horrors of the world go away. It was so naïve of him to think that that was where it ended, that he could turn a life around with a meal and a drive. That's when his phone rang, and his ring tone echoed through the room, foreboding almost. "Bury her, I won't let you bury her, I won't let you smother her. I won't let you murder her, because time is-" he grabbed it, cutting the music off. "Hello?" asked Will softly

Jake watched as Will grabbed the GPS, dropped the phone as though it was on fire, and ran out to the car like a knight in shining armour. Unlike a knight, he figured his friend was going to end up coming home in a casket. He got up, cursing under his breath, "wait up, Will. I'll drive you." He ran after his friend, "but I stay in the car, and if we get killed, I'm blaming you."

_Earlier_

"Don't worry, we'll take you home. Daddy's quite excited to see you." And maybe the officer didn't hear the malice in her voice, but Drusilla did. Drusilla looked to the officer and begged him with her eyes not to believe Darla. How was she supposed to tell him that she wasn't Darla's daughter, that the 'daddy' she was taking Drusilla home to was possibly the incarnation of evil? There was no way to choke the word out as she froze up, knowing what was to come. She couldn't speak, couldn't move as Darla took the corded phone out of her hand and hung it back on the wall. "Come on Michela," she said, still using the alias, dragging the stunned Drusilla out of the room.

Once outside, Darla's demeanour changed entirely. Her painted lips twisted into a wicked smirk as she opened the door of a car, Drusilla assumed it was stolen, and forced the younger girl into it. Drusilla allowed herself to be shoved into the back seat, perching lightly on the seat. The leather seats smelled like smoke, and… and memories. Uncle Robert used to smoke, and then he disappeared. He always used to joke that he was a dragon, blowing smoke into the air. Then, Drusilla assumed, the real dragons came. She took the napkin and shoved it down the front of her dress before Darla could see it, knowing that that would be her only chance of being rescued. Maybe just being able to talk to Will between… well, in between incidents, when she was just a broken doll shut in the closet, maybe she could talk to him, and she'd be less alone.

"Caused quite a bit of trouble with your little escape routine," Darla commented, "Angelus was… well, he's Angelus, I think you know what it's like when he's angry," she looked a little bitter for a moment, and Drusilla didn't understand that, why Darla's… why his moods would upset her. Angelus surely couldn't hurt Darla, could he? But Drusilla didn't see any marks on Darla. Perhaps it was his obsessive tendencies. If Angelus wanted something, he would stop at nothing to get it. Darla probably got bored with his little obsessions when she found she couldn't distract him. Oh, why couldn't she distract him? And that's when Drusilla noticed a miracle. Darla's purse, sitting on the passenger seat. One surprise and it would fall off, and then, it wouldn't look suspicious if Drusilla passed the bad to Darla after borrowing her phone. Or, it wouldn't if Darla didn't catch her liberating the phone.

Drusilla saw a little lever on the back of Darla's seat, and she flicked it, watching the seat slip back, and Darla reach desperately for the brakes, the little red purse soaring forward, and then back as Darla hastily accelerated to match the speed of the road. Drusilla reached down for the purse and slipped the phone out, hiding it in the loose lining of her skirt, passing it back up to Darla. "Don't be mad at me, mummy, it begged me. The little switch lied, said it would give me somewhere to go,'" she sounded as she always did, but with a little more hope. Had Darla not been just trying to breathe after their almost-accident, she would have noticed that, but she didn't. _The best- laid plans…._

Soon, she was carried from the car screaming. She was worried the phone would fall out. She clutched at her skirt, and Darla assumed that it was in some attempt to protect herself, not thinking to check her purse for her phone. Drusilla wouldn't dare do anything so openly defiant, least of all after all the trouble she'd gotten into. Darla had seen a man leaving her at the station, but she decided she'd keep that little secret to herself. Angelus was already pissed, tell him anymore and he might never stop. She understood his need to punish Drusilla for her transgressions, but a woman could only take so much constant pleading and screaming before it took its toll, not to mention that she didn't like those days after, seeing Drusilla all… well even more destroyed than she already was. Sometimes she'd shut down and seem almost as if she wanted it to end, whether or not that meant that she would end with it. There had been times Drusilla had gone weeks without food, because she didn't have the will to eat. Maybe, hopefully, Angelus wouldn't leave her completely without will this time. She set Drusilla down in her room, leaving soundlessly.

Drusilla looked around the room in horror, everything screaming at her of the atrocities already committed in this very room. Each dent in the cracked, peeling white walls and every stain on the already chipped and scratched furniture told a tale of what she'd been through. The walls felt tight, enclosing. She knew in this moment, not only was she trapped, she was doomed. No. No she wasn't. Not this time. This time, she had Will. Shakily, she removed the phone from the lining of her dress, lightly tapping the reflective screen until she got the passcode. Then came Will's number, which she typed, fingers shaking so badly that they kept hitting the wrong numbers. Finally, she got it in right, and hit the little green phone, praying that that green phone would be her saviour, a call to arms to her white knight.

It rang for what felt like a lifetime, before Will answered with a _hello_. Drusilla had to impart a lot of information to him in almost no time, so she spoke hurriedly, not wasting a second. "The dragons have taken me to their lair on the fifth south street and the hidden road of the valley, to the house of the mark of the beast, less two," she explained, trying to be as coherent as she could be, but not able to stifle the tears that flowed freely down her cheeks. She knew what would happen to her, and she had to warn him, had to let her Will know that this was when she needed him, if he could even just wait outside, or down the street, or somewhere close. "I'm a broken doll, and I have no will but you. My Will. But Angelus doesn't think I should have a will. Is this wrong?" she asked, hysterically. "Is that why he'll punish me?" she asked, voice cracking.

The door ripped open, thrown open by a menacing figure. Drusilla threw the phone, cringing away from it as the screen shattered. Angelus smirked, not seeing the phone nor the napkin, which she'd torn into little pieces, as much as she hated to see her poet's words go. His lips twisted into an awful, wicked expression, "thought you could get away, did you?" he asked her roughly, jerking her up by the back of her dress. "But you don't deserve to get away, do you?" he asked her, throwing her to the bed and loving the hurt in her eyes. She deserved to suffer for crossing him. Oh, he'd have fun teaching her to obey him, or he certainly had before.

Drusilla closed her eyes, feeling herself hit the bed, tuning out the verbal abuse as Angelus positioned himself above her. She tried to think of Will, of Will rushing in as the pain started, as it always did, like she was being torn apart. She tried to tune out the words, but she heard him yell for her to look him in the eyes like a good little… She opened her eyes, his figure blurring into just a big black shadow above her, looking down at her, bringing only pain. She wasn't a concrete angel, a tragic story of a stricken heroine, she was just a useless little doll, who lay there and refused to fight him, because the more she fought, she knew, the more it would hurt. _Please get here soon, Will._

Will was ripping down fifth street as fast as he could make Jake drive, already pale with fear. Drusilla was the girl he'd thought of, the one abducted by a serial killer. One with a penchant for torture. She'd been taken back there, and he'd heard the door rip open, and then screaming, before the line disconnected. Jake wasn't faring much better. His nails were digging into the wheel. "Remind me why we can't call the police?" He asked, on edge, Jake didn't want to be the knight in shining armour, he wanted to be the man who lived to see tomorrow. He was really just the driver. The living driver, who wasn't going to end up victim to some freaky psychopath who happened to have abducted his roommate's girlfriend.

Will sighed, not bothering to turn off the GPS as it casually informed him that he was going twelve point seven miles above the speed limit. "Because the police don't believe her. They made a story up. They've been through this all before, and Angelus is playing it low-profile. They probably think he's gone overseas. And it helps that she speaks in beautiful poetry. Not the easiest thing to understand, particularly if you don't have the soul of a poet." He smiled, thinking about her words. She spoke like he wrote. He imagined it was like some great poetic tragedy, perhaps the only ever tragedy to have a happy ending. Maybe not Shakespeare then… God, he wished more tragedies had—the GPS interrupted his reverie with a "left turn in ten feet."

Jake cranked the when around, spinning onto Hidden Valley Road, the street they'd assumed the house was on. He cut off a rusted pickup truck in the process, getting cursed at by the driver, and not stopping, ripping up the side street as fast as he could make Will`s car go. "Yeah. She would sound like a poet. Of course. Get in there and get her out. If you're not back in fifteen, I assume you're either dead or soon to be. Run, Will." And with that, a poet became a white knight and dove out the door, running to the door and ringing it, trying to come up with a good lie for when someone came to the door. If it was Angelus, He'd have to try to sound as innocuous as he could. But if it as "the dragon's mate" he might be able ot bluff his way in. Granted anyone who could…mate…with that had to be pretty fearless.

The door ripped open abruptly, a composed-looking blonde stepping out, straightening her red dress, "May I help you?" she asked suspiciously, looking Will in the eyes. She looked normal. Well, obviously, she was beautiful, he hadn't expected Angelus to be with anyone who wasn't, but she looked innocuous. He wouldn't have even spotted her if she was on campus. She looked like a person. Perhaps that meant he could appeal to her humanity. Then, he heard a scream from the upstairs, and any sort of thinking went away. There was no talking of thinking or anything like that, this was no time for reasonable Will to be just that—reasonable, and this was time for him to do something absolutely insane. He pushed past her, making for the stairs.

Will made one stop, grabbing the nearest weapon he could find, a small gun. He wasn't sure what type it was, or whether it was loaded, but that wasn't important. He was just going to use it to show that he meant business. Hopefully that would mean he wouldn't have to reveal that he was the same Will who'd habitually been left in the gym lockers, some locked, some not, because he either wouldn't or couldn't fight back. Maybe with a gun in hand, he could bluff it. The woman chased him up the stairs, warning him that he didn't want to see this, but he just ripped the door open.

The gun fell from his hand at what he saw. "Bloody hell," he said softly, bending to pick the gun up, so he might have a chance at making it stop. _Don't be sick, Will. If you're sick, he won't take you seriously. Now, say something menacing. Come on, you watch James Bond, it can't be that hard. _He couldn't make words fall from his lips, as the images burned through his retinas and into his memory, his nightmares. Oh, god. He was going to be sick. But he couldn't his life and hers both depended on this, on him being strong.

The dark- haired man who'd been on top of Drusilla stood up, a wicked smirk playing at his lips. "Well, well. You really have been bad this time. Filthy little whore" he admonished her, shoving her brutally to the floor. She didn't defend herself, just letting herself hit the floor, not trying to get up, or move. A doll, subject to the whims of the man who'd abducted her all those years ago. He jerked her up to him roughly, his hand knotting in her long hair. Will had to take a deep breath, trying to find words, he was a poet and an intern at a newspaper company, words were his forte, but they'd deserted him now.

Drusilla looked at Will, tears in her eyes as she tried to explain herself. Oh, oh no. She'd kissed him, and now he probably thought that meant nothing. She hurt though, and the words she did manage to choke out didn't make sense even to her. She kept her eyes on Will's, trying to explain to him with her eyes that this wasn't what she was sure it looked like. "My Will," she choked out. "Found my Will." But now, she was certain, just like five years ago, her will was going to be torn away.


	5. Deus ex Machina

**Yay. New chapter. The last one was… well, don't be afraid, this one is less… warning-y. **

**Disclaimer: Dru and Angelus have lines that their canon selves use in "Destiny". Those aren't mine. They belong to whichever writer wrote those specific lines, and Joss owns AtS, not me. Also, certain ideas I've incorporated into this are elements of the aforementioned episode. I don't own those either. **

**Previously: William tells his roomie Jake all about his destiny, and meeting Dru. Jake googles her to discover **_**oh, what do you know**_**, this is the girl you were thinking of. **_**Well done**_**. Then William gets a phone call, and drives to find Dru, who is presently being punished by a **_**very**_** angry Angelus for her escape. Will gets there, pushes Darla out of the way, grabs a gun and almost faints. Angelus is now definitely pissed, when he discovers that **_***gasp***_** Dru has had some level of involvement with the man at the door, and blown their cover.**

**Warnings: are back to implied. Thank the lord. But some of them are rather strong implications. I prefer to portray a lot of this in implications, so… the warnings are only as bad as you make them.**

My Will," she choked out. "Found my Will." But now, she was certain, just like five years ago, her will was going to be torn away. "Don't play such a sad tune," she said softly, looking at Will, how upset he was, knowing she'd caused all that, knowing one or both of them was likely to do, "give us a kiss then," she added, knowing it might be her last, hoping it would be her last but not his last.

Will heard her say his name and it was like a surge of... Of something that spurred him on. She looked at him like he was all that could save her, all that was left. "Let her go," he said tersely, pointing the gun at Angelus. Will wasn't violent. He'd been the victim plenty of times, locked into lockers and shoved into various hard surfaces. He never turned to violence. Sometimes, the violence was inevitable. He didn't want to kill a man, but he wasn't going to let Angelus hurt Drusilla any more than he already had. And if that meant he would have to pull the trigger and let a little piece of some sort of metal defend her, well, he wouldn't lie, that was a terrifying thought. Terrible, feasible, and entirely the kind of thing he knew might have to happen.

The smirk on Angelus's face grew, "alright," he threw her to her knees, "you have a minute. Prove to me that he deserves to live." He smirked down at her, waiting to see how she would choose to prove it, and then giving a knowing look to Will. The kid had bravado, but Angelus had seen plenty of bravado, it usually came attached to cowards. Angelus leaned back against the wall, wanting to see if he would crack after whatever he was about to watch. Drusilla did her best not to cry, stifling her tears and taking a deep, calming breath. She'd been here before, for her own life at the start. It was degrading to the extreme, but she knew she could get Will out of here safe. She hated herself for calling Will in the first place, getting him in danger, and she hated herself for what she had to do now, what she would end up doing to save his life. She deserved it this time, for endangering Will.

Drusilla hadn't even moved when the shot went off, embedding itself in the wall. Will stood, trying to be stoic, trying to keep rational. _Oh, god, the gun was loaded and it shot and he wasn't sure if Angelus had one and was going to kill him with one_. He looked at Drusilla, and motioned to her, getting the gun pointed roughly at Angelus's heart. "You don't have to do that, love. Never again," he promised boldly, trying to channel his inner Bond. _Pratt, William Pratt_. He was panicking on the inside, because the gun was loaded and he'd just shot something, despite that it was a wall, and he might have to shoot a person to get Drusilla away from here. "Actually, I don't think you'll ever have to see him again," he added, trying to think clearly, and getting by on bravado.

Drusilla got up, walking cautiously to Will. She buried her head in his shoulder, feeling safe. It was bizarre, she was here in the room where so much had happened, where she'd been subjected to so much, but she felt not so much safe now, but safe like she could be safe one day, somewhere else. She must be crazy, and she knew Will was, to come save her. Will removed one hand from the gun and wrapped it around her, running it gently up and down her back. "I've got you, Drusilla," he whispered, "you're safe now." She'd never thought she could be safe again, but now, well, she _almost_ believed him. She would believe him if he got her out of here and she could be safe. The police might believe him, or maybe they would just go home, to his home, and she could rest. They all could finally just rest.

Angelus wasn't going to have that. He wasn't going to have Drusilla just walk out, and particularly not with the guy who'd come to save her, who'd likely blow their cover. But he was short-handed, without weapon, and he would have to be a little more cunning with it, at least until the weapon was out of this kid's hands. "There's no belonging or deserving. You can take what you want, have what you want... but nothing is yours," he started to pace, a smirk twisting at his lips. Oh, the kid's hands were already trembling a little. This was too easy! "Nothing is yours, but she's not even hers anymore. What do you think you're going to do now? _Swoop in and save her_? Are _you_ the hero?" he asked sarcastically " and once you've saved the day for the _power of good _let me guess, you two are going to—What's the euphemism again—something from the sixties?" he paused to think, and Drusilla whimpered against Will's shoulder

He smirked as he remembered the phrase, "going to make love to her?" he asked, "Try to poetically make her forget what she is," he mocked Will, seeing if the boy would be capable of shooting. He knew the kid wouldn't have it in him to kill anyone, but after this, he was betting that the kid would either break down or throw a tantrum. Either would be amusing. "What are you?" Angelus demanded roughly, trying to make his point. He could say as much as he wanted, but whatever he said would have only a fraction of the impact of what Drusilla could say. The kid knew she wouldn't lie to make it sound worse. Drusilla whimpered again, tears staining Will's shirt as she looked up and saw him, and then looked at Angelus. She staggered away from Will, realizing that she didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve to stand here in his arms like a person, taking comfort from him.

Angelus took that moment to get himself some security. He seized Drusilla as she spoke, gasping as he jerked her in and pulled her tightly against him. She raised her arms out sadly, not struggling, the gesture as much out of defeat as it was out of the ghosts of the hope it wouldn't have to be. She looked at Will apologetically, "nothing," she finally said, liking that better than most of the things she'd answered to around this house. "I'm a broken doll to be shut in the closet and forgotten. A sad memory, happy William, made of glass until it cracked," her voice went to almost a whisper on the last word. Will wanted to rage and make Angelus feel the pain he so loved to inflict. He wanted to run over there and take Drusilla out of those tainted hands. What if Angelus was right and it wouldn't make any difference? He didn't expect to—well, he didn't even expect anything even once she knew she wasn't a thing. Didn't seem right, particularly when she thought her place was to be used and abused. But what if nothing could take away that idea, make her believe that she was just as much a person as Will or even that she was worth it? What then?

"No," Will said softly, not knowing how to say this, "no, no," he babbled, reaching out to her. the gun fell from his hand into his coat pocket, as the rest of the world stopped mattering. She was in pain, in danger, and he would take it away. He would find a way, but for now he was just stammering aimlessly._ She hasn't a name but she carries on still/could I be her strength of will? _He understood the line the instant it came to him, that that was his question. He might have to think about that later, when they weren't—and suddenly Drusilla was screaming and a hand roughly jerked the gun out of his hand, shoving him against the wall nearest the window. William motioned to her to run, but Angelus joust looked at Drusilla and said one word, warningly, "church."

Remembering the event in the church, in her home, Drusilla knew escape was pointless. He made it hurt more when she ran, and the gun was already pulled on Will, the cold barrel pressed into his back. "I'm sorry," she said softly sinking to the ground again.

_Meanwhile_

Jake sat on the driveway, counting down the time Will had until he left, despite that it had actually been seventeen seconds past the ten minutes Will had asked for. He was about to call 911 and leave, he'd even disengaged the emergency brake, when he saw the woman in the door way, walking outside, looking disgruntled, a little shaken, and so… wow. Jake wasn't certain there was a word for the way she looked. Holy crap she was beautiful. He smiled at her, waving. She rolled her eyes, probably because of the thoroughly second-hand vehicle he was sitting in. He'd show off a little. He could make the little car purr like a sports car. Then maybe, he'd roll down the windows and invite her in for a spin. _Oh, Jake, bad thoughts, she's probably working with the people that took Will's girlfriend_. Or, maybe she was stuck there as much as Will's girlfriend. He could be the knight in shining car and save her, and she'd be so grateful that…

But he'd start by revving the engine. Jake knew the emergency brake had to be down, because he was parked, so he just pumped the gas. He wasn't expecting the car to shoot forward and break their garage door. _Oops_. And consider their cover double-blown. The woman laughed openly as Jake backed out of the garage door, sheepishly. That's when Jake heard the second gunshot go off and the screaming begin. _Oh, god. Oh, god, please let Will be alright_. He wouldn't even make fun of him next time he wrote all night and slept in class, or anything like that. He just had to be alive. Jake wondered what was taking them so long, as he heard a loud clattering and prayed that it was his friend and he was going to run out of the house, girlfriend in tow.

This optimism thing, it was starting to sound almost Will-esque.

Upstairs, Will and Angelus were jarred by the vibrations that wracked the wall when the car hit the door. They fell to the floor, Angelus grabbing for the gun and firing off a shot that landed inches from Will's face. Will rolled out of the way of it as Drusilla began to scream hysterically. He understood what was going on. From what he remembered of the whole story (reading the article still felt like too much of a violation) Angelus had shot several people close to her. They assumed she'd been shot in the church, but here she was. Will took the risk of stopping to pick her up, because he wasn't leaving without her. He could already feel bruises from being slammed into a wall, and he wasn't certain if he was even strong enough to carry a human being when he was in the best condition, and under no pressure.

Drusilla watched the gun go off, and it was like nothing had changed. She started to scream at Will to run, to get out of here. Her family was shot by Angelus. She knew he'd do it. He'd even shot the priest, when the priest had let her stay in the church_. A holy man_. Angelus could easily shoot Will. But Will stopped to pick her up. He ran down the stairs, with her there in his arms until, halfway down, he tripped. They rolled down the stairs. She'd been thrown against various hard surfaces in this night, but she forced herself to remain silent as the hard edges of the steps bludgeoned her fragile body. They were like a barrage of cruel fists, punishing her for leaving. Then, suddenly, it stopped. Will curled up around her, protecting her, but drawing her closer. _Oh, god. The proximity_. She couldn't breathe. He was Will, she trusted him, but she didn't trust proximity. What happened after this though? Would he be upset that she was ruined?

Will didn't stop to think, he just ran into the garage, ripping the door open and seeing a hole. Angelus was coming down the stairs, encroaching on them more and more as he tried to run, still holding Drusilla. He dove through the hole Jake had made, ripping the car door open, and not bothering with seatbelts, just getting in the back. "Drive, Jake!" he yelled wildly, "drive, drive, drive!" he cried, lying Drusilla on the seat, her head cushioned by his legs, because he figured that would be more comfortable, until they were sure she was alright. Jake sped off, and Will turned his attention to the girl lying here with him. He stroked the hair out of her face, seeing the welt Angelus's had left earlier, before they'd met, a bruise now blossoming for him throwing her to the floor. He knew her face wouldn't be the worst of it. He wouldn't see what he suspected the worst of it was, because, well, neither of them would be comfortable with that, but he could see that she was bruised and battered, and would need a shower and some clean clothes. He'd get Jake to pick up clothes once they were somewhere safe.

Drusilla moved a hand up to caress down Will's face, "like a sodding knight, he just came and saved the princess," she said softly, as a way of thanks. Will smiled beneath her touch, and she wondered why. He should push her onto the floor of the car, or even onto the streets. She wasn't worthy of this, of all the things he'd done for her. Will had nearly died for her, not to mention that Angelus would do whatever it took to find him, he'd just made the game interesting. Drusilla tried to roll onto the floor where she belonged, feeling a surge of pain. "Snake in the woodshed," she muttered ashamedly, not trying to move after that. Surely, Will would have to stop after this, after he realized that she could only bring misfortune. Would he learn before Angelus caught up to them? She could hope.

Jake kept driving, ignoring the words of his passengers. He wasn't a poet—actually, he was majoring in business, but it didn't take a poet to understand that metaphor. It wasn't something he wanted to think about, so he decided to write it off as not his business and leave it to them. Will was a poet; he knew that this girl, however broken was in good hands with his friend. Will just leaned into her hand, holding her there after feeling her trying to hit the floor. "It's alright, love. I know it hurts. We're going to take you to my house and get you cleaned up, and see what we can do for you," he whispered, thinking the attempt to roll was caused by pain and not shame. He didn't know what to do. She was obviously in a lot of pain, traumatised deeply. He'd never seen anything like this. One of his friends once lost his dog, but that was the extent of the sorrow he'd seen in his real life. What do you say to someone who's had her family taken from her, everything she had taken from her? He just looked at her for a long moment, seeing if there was anything they could do.

Drusilla looked up at him. "I never understood the ones that find beauty in ruin. Shattered pieces where there could be art. There will never be art, Will. And the pieces are too sharp to go back together, I don't want you to get cut," she sighed, looking away, focussing on the cracked leather of the seat in front of her, picking at it with her nails. The pieces that could hypothetically piece her back together were shattered and sharp and she knew some were missing, or crumbled into sparkly little glass-dust to blow in the wind. Why would Will bother? She wasn't worth the time and the effort, not worth the saving that he'd done now for her. "You've already been cut on the sharp edges, you should know that," she reminded him, finding a little scratch on his arm from their tumble down the stairs. She hated that she'd let him be hurt like that. She should be there still, on the floor. That's all she was good for.

Will took her hand gently in his; he wasn't sure if he was going to respond in metaphors like she had, or whether he would just be nice and literal with it. He decided he'd stay metaphoric, because he figured it would be easier to say things that way, particularly if Jake didn't understand it, give her a tiny bit of privacy. "I have a story for you," he said softly, a groan coming from the front seat, which he ignored. He would tell her the story about the concrete angel in the park, all she symbolized to him. "It was grade nine, and I was on an art field trip." The car screeched abruptly to a halt, and Will looked around confusedly. Had they run out of gas? He was about to ask, but Jake answered his question before he had to ask it.

"William Pratt, I will evict you from the car and drive her myself if you start telling the concrete angel story," he said, merging back into traffic. It wasn't that the story wasn't fitting or anything, and it wasn't that he didn't think it would make sense, but he didn't need this going Romeo and Juliet. Maybe they should both try sounding like human beings instead of Shakespeare characters, might make the whole thing seem a little less… destined for tragedy. God, he'd spent too long with his roommate. He added as an afterthought, "And you, it's been a long night, and I'm not good at names but still. You need to stop it with your self-deprecation. If it's for show, I'm pulling over again, but if it's real, then you—both of you need to do a little bit of thinking. You can't be worthless if Will's already risking our lives to get you out of that place. Either that or Will needs some sense talked into him." Jake knew the words sounded harsh, but Will was too much of a pushover to just put it to her directly. And the night they were having was getting less and less sane, so maybe if he said sane things like that, it would make things better.

There was a long silence, and then the car parked in front of a nondescript building, Jake nodded to Will, "You two wait here, I'm going to see if Sophie has anything to spare for her to change into." He said, wondering if he'd said too much.


	6. Why? (part one)

**It's irredeemable how long such a short chapter took. I blame school work, though you are welcome to blame me. I'm on spring break, so I'll likely finish the next chapter within the week. **

**Disclaimer: character and situations that are recognisable from canon (Spike and Dru, Darla, Angelus, the whole "Destiny"-like scene that took place over the past two chapters, the way this all started.) those are Joss's. And the quote that Will comes up with eventually at the end of the chapter is from (I believe, but correct me if I'm wrong) the Perks of Being a Wallflower**

**Previously: through a couple insane and unforeseen turns of events, they escape. So far. We all know it doesn't end there. Right now, everyone is on the way home, and Jake stops at his sister's dorm to ask her for clothes after saying a little too much to Will and Dru. **

**Warnings: no implications that you shouldn't be used to. If you made it through every other chapter, you're fine.**

Jake ran into the dorm, leaving Will and Dru alone in the car, his words, harsh but true echoed through the car in his wake. Will looked down at Drusilla, so much unsaid in his eyes and in hers. He was barely about to say something, when Jake and a shorter brunette got in the car Sophie turned around and looked at Will for a moment, and then Dru. "Oh my god. Yeah, Jake, that's her," Sophie said softly, incredulously. Her green eyes widened as she looked at the girl in the back. This was surreal. Sophie was in junior year when her classmate had disappeared, and here she was. Sophie was five years older, but Drusilla looked centuries older, just by that look in her eyes. "I thought—and there was the—how did she manage to survive?" she choked out softly, but not softly enough that Drusilla didn't hear.

Drusilla looked at her classmate like she was seeing a ghost. "How did I survive?" she asked softly, the words filling the car as another eerie silence fell upon its occupants and Jake pulled out, heading home. Drusilla looked up at the roof of the car, and then back to Sophie, who was awaiting an answer. She sighed, "I didn't survive," she explained, "Drusilla Keeble is dead, and I am just what remains." And it was true. In her past life, she'd been a person, she'd had dreams, big dreams, and she'd been able to interact with people, do things worth doing without falling apart. That Drusilla would have studied a bit and then—she couldn't even remember what she'd wanted to do. She'd always wanted to travel though, go back to London, where she lived until she was six. She would have been able to accomplish something, at least capable of conversing. That Drusilla could have had a family, someday and a life worth living. This Drusilla's biggest dream was to pay for her own soup at Will's café and have a meal with him. This Drusilla was just a broken doll.

Sophie looked to her brother for elaboration as Will stroked the hair out of Drusilla's face. "We'll see if we can bring her back," he assured her, genuinely promising her that he would try. He knew by the way they'd kissed that what was still Drusilla in her trusted him. He didn't think he could fix everything her captor had done to her, but he would try to give this life a meaning for her. He just wanted to see her be alright, and that was why they were here now, because Will cared. Jake had a point that they had come rather close to getting killed, and Will probably should have been a little less impulsive, but somehow they'd escaped, and for now, Drusilla would stay with them, he hoped. It was the only place he knew she'd be safe, and he didn't really have enough money for a hotel for any substantial amount of time. He was just a student, so it wasn't like he had much money, even if he worked overtime at the paper he worked for.

Jake pulled into their parking spot, and Sophie got out of the car, revealing that she had a bag with her, hopefully with essentials. Will opened the door and slipped out, "Can you walk?" he asked gently, prepared to carry her if not, because he didn't want to see her in pain. She nodded and got out of the car, a little shaky, but alright. Will held onto her as they walked to the elevator to get to the apartment. Sophie and Jake walked ahead of them, and Jake explained what he knew about what had happened tonight, essentially that Will thought he was a knight, and Jake had _heroically _bashed into the door to protect them. Once everyone was into the elevator, the ride up to their apartment was a short one, and when they opened the door, they were already puzzling out rooming. They had a couch, two beds and Jake's old air mattress from his camping phase, which Sophie refused to sleep on. She claimed that it was far too dirty for her.

In the end, Jake kept his room, Sophie got the couch, and Will decided he wanted Drusilla to sleep in his bed. He was having a poet-insomniac night anyways, and he wanted her to be comfortable. When they entered the apartment, Drusilla looked around, like she could barely believe her eyes. She could see papers strewn everywhere, books forming stacks that could be used as tables, if a person could be so cruel to books. It looked like a home, a safe, warm home for a poet and his friend. Sophie wrinkled her nose, looking around at the mess. It was just like Will, poetry, half-written and strewn everywhere, books stacked precariously on any available hard surface. Sophie made a crack about their organization while Drusilla walked to the window, sitting on the fluffy-pillow-like chair beside it, "the stars!" she exclaimed, gesturing out the window, "Will! The stars!" and it had been a long time since Drusilla had seen the stars, but she'd always like them, their light and the light of the moon. She was at home among their light, and it was fitting that she finally saw them with the only man who ever would be her star, shine on her. The only star in a godless world.

Sophie sighed and swept the books and notebook from the couch before unzipping her bag. She removed a small bag of things from her bag, mini shampoo and conditioner, an old pair of leggings and a t-shirt, and some new undergarments that she'd bought yesterday. She didn't really care that she was donating a few things, because she usually did this kind of thing (albeit on a more anonymous basis) around Christmas. This was for someone she actually knew, and god only knew what she'd been through in these past five years. She tossed the bag to Will, who thanked her. He really was lucky that they weren't alone in all this, because that would be overwhelming for anyone. Will approached Drusilla at the window, bag in hand. "Do you want to go shower?" he asked her, offering her the bag. He figured it would feel good for her to get clean.

Drusilla looked inside the bag and then smiled. "And here I am among the stars," she said gratefully, trying to force back that little voice that kept warning her that she shouldn't be here, she didn't deserve it. Will lead her to the bathroom, showing her how his shower worked (if it doesn't turn on, hit the faucet repeatedly and eventually it will.) and then turned to leave. Drusilla stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Will?" she asked cautiously, "Will, why are you doing this?" she asked him carefully. She knew she didn't deserve any of it, but she wasn't in a position to argue. Everything he'd given her, she was indebted to him deeply enough that she wouldn't get out of debt in this lifetime, and that meant she was in no position to argue with him. He really shouldn't be doing this though, giving her all these things, saving her, what could she really do for everything she'd been given? A person could take the help he'd given her, thank him, and become rich and successful through some hidden talent. They could thank him all publically and make a beautiful speech that wouldn't have to be interpreted. She could sit her in pieces and waste everything until neither of them had a thing left.

Will smiled, turning the water on and hitting the faucet until a spray of warm water spewed for the showerhead. "I'm doing this because you saw the stars," he said softly, "because you saw them in me and what is a star to do but shine? And if I'm going to shine, I want to shine on the people who look up and see," he explained, not wanting to say the reason that had been eating at him. No, there would be a time for that, but that time was when he was brave and ergo not now. He smiled and gestured to the door, "but your shower's ready, I should go," he told her softly, motioning to the door. Drusilla looked at him imploringly, but said nothing, so Will left, thinking his words would be a start. He couldn't convince her that quickly, but he could try. He walked out and sat back on the couch, doing his best to clean the living room up.

Drusilla tentatively locked the door, and then, paranoia getting the best of her, looked over every inch of the bathroom before removing the coffee-stained dress and letting the hot water cascade down her back. It felt so incredible, being alone in here, alone and in hot water, with things that made her hair feel like it used to when she'd been in school, all soft and smooth. She smiled at the smell, before taking a deep breath and looking down at her body, seeing the scratches and bruises, the scars that marred her arms like a series of interlocking links in a chain, tying her down to her past. She gingerly pressed the bar of soap against one of the cuts, gasping as the soap disinfected the wound. Drusilla continued, gritting her teeth until she'd gotten everything, and then just standing there, letting the hot water run down her body, feeling protective and warm.

It had been an hour and a half, and the water still ran, when the door opened. Drusilla screamed and Sophie made calming motions, "shh! It's okay! Just me! I had to go to the bathroom like, an hour ago, and I figured I'd just slip in and _holy crap!_" The last part came out when she looked at Drusilla, who was hiding all but her face behind the shower curtain. She could see the bruises through the flimsy white curtain. "Are you alright?" she asked, averting her eyes and looking at her feet. Oh, god. What had happened to her classmate? Or, a better question after five years with someone who was capable of that, what _hadn't_ happened to her?

Drusilla blushed, realizing she'd overreacted, particularly since Sophie was nothing to be afraid of. She stayed hidden behind the curtain, looking confusedly at Sophie. Then she looked down at herself and winced, seeing all the marks Angelus had left on her body. No wonder Sophie was asking. But was she alright? No, the pieces were still shattered, and she didn't think it was safe for Will to try to piece her together. She did cause tragedy where she went, and she wasn't going to have him be broken trying to put her shards together. Drusilla finally shook her head, "no. No, I'm not. Will I be?" she asked, mainly asking herself. She didn't know how to define "alright". Did "alright" mean able to function in society, able to sleep without nightmares, able to forget, or at least move forwards? Alright was for people, and as much as she knew Will was trying to turn her into one, she knew he never could. She knew she'd never...

"Drusilla! Are you alright?" came a voice at the door. Will blushed when he looked in the room and saw that she was… Oh god. The first thing her realized was that she was naked. The second thing he realized was that she was hurt, and the third thing, just as he was covering his eyes so as to give her some privacy was that she was beautiful. He doubted anyone else in the room would believe him, Drusilla included, and that wasn't right. He blushed as he stood there, hand covering his eyes, stammering out apologies. Sophie squinted at him incredulously. Will couldn't believe he'd just barged in, but he'd heard a scream, and he thought something bad was happening, and he didn't want anything bad to happen, but he hadn't thought that she'd be…well, in the shower still. _Smooth move, Will. Promise her somewhere safe and invade her privacy less than two hours in._

Drusilla knew why he'd want to cover his eyes. Sometimes she wished she could cover her own, but she was used to the bruises and the pain, and closing her eyes didn't make it any less obvious. Drusilla grabbed a towel, wrapping it around herself and looking up at Will, who was still sputtering out apologies. Funny, he saw and he apologized almost frantically, but Angelus left her with all the bruises, and he still thought that wasn't enough. Whatever happened now, she knew she was dead if he found her. Not the quick, bullet kind of death either, the long, drawn out kind. The kind where you screamed and pleaded and it all fell to deaf ears. Or no ears at all, because she didn't think Darla would let him do it at their house. She was likely going to stay here for a while, but then what? And why was Will sorry? If it were Sophie in the shower, he should be, but Drusilla was just a doll. It didn't matter if he saw her. "Will? Will, why are you sorry?" she asked softly, "it doesn't matter, not really."

Will winced behind his hand, knowing that if she was anyone else, she would have slapped him and then left in a fit of rage. She didn't care, either because she was used to being property and she figured she was in his house, and that made her his, or because she was just used to not having any privacy. Either way, he wasn't going to look unless she wanted him to, and that would only come once she believed she was a person. So that was his mission, take in a stranger who'd been through unmentionable things, make her feel like a person again, and then what? What was supposed to happen from there? Assuming there ever came. "I'm sorry because that's personal, and I shouldn't be invading your privacy," he explained, thinking that perhaps he could just keep explaining this to her, and eventually it would just make sense to her. It was a start, until he knew how to get through to her.

Drusilla laughed bitterly as a response, sitting pressed against the wall of the bathtub. It was ridiculous that Will thought she'd be offended. Will was so kind, it wasn't like he'd hurt her more, and he was giving her so much, it wasn't like she'd complain even if he wanted to hurt her, he'd saved her from Angelus and he was providing food and clothing. "It doesn't matter, Will. Not a person. Only people get to care," she knew Will wouldn't accept that, but she wasn't a person. Not anymore, she'd stopped being a person when Angelus and Darla took her to the prison that Will had broken her out of. Maybe one of the houses before that, because they couldn't stay in one place for too long.

Sophie chose that moment to cut in, knowing that she was about five minutes from Romeo and Juliet: Will's bathroom edition (that sounded better, admittedly when she thought it). Jake had warned her that they did that, but she hadn't expected it would happen in here. "Alright. Everyone stop. Will, out. You two can have this argument when Dru's dressed. Drusilla, clothes are there, and we're going to wait out here for you," she gave her orders before letting herself and Will out of the bathroom. Will had a final comment dying on his lips as he left, undoubtedly something poetic. "Will, you really think you can get through to her like that?" she asked him, not trying to be cruel, but she didn't want the poor guy to get his hopes up to no avail. "I mean five years and I'm betting they haven't been good ones." She trailed off after that, not letting herself think about the way the bruises

Will sighed. "No. No, I don't think anyone can get through to her unless she lets them, but I want her to want to let me. I'm just doing the human thing by giving her the chance to go on," Will looked at his hands, going to the kitchen to try to find the first aid kit, Sophie following him the whole way. He was right, whatever help she accepted would be what he'd give, whatever caring. There was a quote somewhere that explained it. Something about… "we accept the love we think we deserve." It was from a book Sophie had loved to quote at them in high school. He ran around the kitchen, finding the metallic white box and cutting off Sophie's protests, by flitting around the kitchen preparing something to eat. He needed to do this right, make things right after all this long, and he knew that Sophie was going ot be far too logical to get this.

Sophie stopped him and shoved him against the wall, "Will, get this through your head. This isn't you doing the 'human thing' the human thing would be to give her some loose change and hope for the best. You broke into the house of a known serial killer, damaged your car, nearly got killed and gave her a place to stay. Either you're the new face of humanitarian efforts, or you're insane," she said honestly, sighing and continuing, "but unless the aforementioned killer comes back, I'm in. You're on your own the moment I'm not sure if I'll survive." She decided that was reasonable as she released his shoulders and sat down on the couch, where she belonged. Drusilla left the bathroom, carrying a bag with clothes in it, wearing one of Will's shirts and a pair of leggings, so she could be comfortable sleeping. Sophie's shirt was a little too… well, too much for now.

Will was shocked by how huge his shirt was on her. Granted, it was loose on him, but she could swim in it. It wasn't because Will was overweight either, but because she was just so thin. Will liked it though, the sight of her wearing something not stained with coffee, and full of painful memories. Wearing his shirt. _Whoa! Pause there, Will. Slow down. Less possessive thoughts would be good, she's not yours. That's good though, that she's happy._ First, she should learn to be hers again, and from there she'll decide what she does. He got up and walked over to her, "you look great, love. Are you thirsty?" he asked, offering her a glass of water. Jake wished the rest of them goodnight, kind of done with the sappy moment with those two. He'd had to deal with Will being a poet all night, and he was done. Anymore and he would have a headache not to mention, he didn't think their car was insured for rescue missions. Particularly not secret rescue missions. Next time he'd have to see if they offered crazy James bond insurance packages, in case these two ever did anything ridiculous together, like leaving the house.

Drusilla smiled and took the glass, taking a long sip of the chilled water. She knew Will shouldn't be doing this, and the cost was getting higher and higher, and he didn't seem to understand that. He hadn't imposed any cost but her name and a word, and he'd given her so much, some things she didn't think she could ever repay him for. He'd come so close to being killed tonight, but he wasn't dead, and she wasn't alive. Gently, she leaned her head onto his shoulder, keeping her distance because he'd already made it clear that he wasn't imposing a cost on her, and she didn't figure there would be any other reason he'd want her close. But she could pretend, laying on his shoulder, that she was alright, that she was real. Lying here, she knew quite well how that felt.


End file.
